Two Steps In Hesitation
by yoyotenshi
Summary: The war continues in the new country of America and the Assassins are willing to protect the fledgling country but at the cost of what? People, people like my family and families like mine...But I'll be a pawn, I was born to be one so I'll die like one...ConnorxOC(don't hate me) builds up to be mature.
1. Chapter 1

I wake, staring out into the dark bedroom.

Absentmindedly I pull the thick blanket tighter around me, the weight of it reminding me of one big hug and I curl up like a caterpillar enjoying its warmth. But I realize…

I woke for a reason.

With a groan, I get out of bed, toes grazing over the cold floor as they grope for shoes and the warm blanket is quickly replaced by a hooded robe and a sleeveless overcoat on top of that.

Stumbling forward, I grab the basket on the nightstand with one hand and use the rag in the washbasin to quickly wipe the sleep off of my face.

I nudge the glass doors hidden by curtains at the far end of the room with a foot and walk onto the balcony that hangs over a small courtyard. The balcony is on the third floor of the miniature mansion but I hop onto its railing and jump eyes still half-shut, butt meeting cloth of a sturdy awning. Sliding down in an angle, I lurch forward as the cloth runs out but I easily roll onto the grass of the courtyard.

I turn and place the basket on the counter under the cover and look around. The layout of the den was genius, I have to admit. The den is a hollow area of the mansion, the roof exposed at the top to let allies in; those who knew of its specific location and those who knew to climb the tallest tower in town could see the exposed roof. From the den, there are few windows that lead to small, isolated rooms within the small mansion, my room being one of them. The floor of the den is a courtyard, a grass area framed by shrubs and a counter protected by the awning is my little area. I straighten the miscellaneous items on it, feeling empty-headed.

At the sound of rustling wings, my head snaps up and I remember why I came down here in the first place. I let the dagger in my sleeve slide down handle first and drop into my hand, looking up through the gap that showed the dark sky. It was lightly illuminated, signaling the coming dawn.

Another rustle and more protest from sleepy birds.

"Child, hurry down or the whole town will hear you," I call out softly, but just enough for my visitor.

I could feel the hesitation but stood calmly as a shadow dropped down carefully into the courtyard. A boy no older than fifteen stood before me in basic uniform.

"Mark," I scold him, "back so soon? Dawn's around the corner, lad."

Mark's face paled and I chuckle, pinching his nose, hand on hip.

"I'm not a child anymore, Sam!"

"And I'm not your friend anymore," I retort calmly, "I'm your superior and you will try harder to impress me."

He scowls and whips his hand up to shove my hand away. I retreat last second only to have my hand return and flick him on the forehead. He pouts at me this time and runs to one of the rooms.  
He's light on his feet but sleep deprivation hangs on him as he stumbles into a window.

I watch after him, memories pulling me backward and a child stands before me, clutching my money purse to chest when he's realized he's cornered. I had pulled my knife out ready to slice his neck in half for dragging me all the way through Boston in a silly chase. But before I knew it, he was following me everywhere like a puppy and eventually the Order.

The light that illuminates the courtyard jolts me out of my thoughts. Mark is in front of me, a concerned look on his face. I adjust the sagging overcoat with a shrug and go behind the counter, assuming my station and Mark waits in front of it as I pull out the record book.

"Report to me the results of your mission."

"The message was successfully delivered to our support in Boston, the receiver however requested an assassin to aid his courier when sending his reply."

I scratch his response into the book with a feather, pausing only to let the feather visit the inkwell.

"Good job, I will send back a letter, accepting the request; however," I pause to look up, feeling the hood tug and strain at the angle, "it does not explain why you arrived late."

The feather is set down and Mark licks his lip.

"While returning, I saw some suspicious activity by the trading posts," he pushes his hood back to look at me more clearly. "Two men were discussing plans…"

I eye him when he hesitates but address him softly. "You assume these men are Templars?"

He nods, "They greeted each other using their own creed but they were conscious of their surroundings and did not reveal much about their plans."

I mull this over. The war was over and the British Army had pulled out but the Templars found cracks and crevices to latch onto to grow and infest like weeds. I mumble to myself, growling at their unending persistence while Mark shifts trying to read my half-hidden face.

I look at him and smile half-heatedly, shrugging in order to adjust the overcoat, "You did well, Mark." I nod as he fidgets, looking embarrassed. "Go on and have a rest, I'll take care of the hard stuff."

I pull out some strips of paper as he leaves without a word and begin to write down the observations and climb to the pigeon coop at the top. Carrier pigeons are an ancient method but they're faster than horses and easier to maintain. One is released, the report on its leg as it head to headquarters. Assassin's learned a long time ago that laying low would help us survive in the war with our enemy. I crouch low, watching the bird disappear. Few know of the location we've set up, me included but I hardly visit the Mentor who was once my personal mentor. Once his right hand, I was always by his side giving him council. But at a young age I've discovered being a den leader is even better. My hands grab the overcoat at my front and pull to adjust it. I return to my station.

* * *

So yeah, first story so please be gentle with me .

This is after Assassin's Creed 3 so yes...Connor will come but this is centered around my OC so that's why she's the narrator...I hope you'll enjoy, but please don't expect too much from me...


	2. Chapter 2

I wake the same way I did the day before but this time I'm up in an instant. Half-asleep I stagger out of blankets and into my jacket, overcoat still on it. I fumble a little with my knife belt when I can feel that presence again. Mark had already left and no other assassin was around. This den off to the side of Boston is always surrounded by kind people and a lack of enemies. I'm enough to stand ground. A knife is in my hands as my body rushes out of the room.

I practically glide out to the balcony and up unto the roof.

Crouching next to the chimney, I listen carefully. The moon was gone and the stars offered the only light, but not enough. I am nervous as I let a hand curl around the broadsword that's strapped onto my back. Its large weight seemed to juxtapose the dagger in my other hand.

Master always joked that I never found a median when it came to choices. "Always picking extremes but never compromising; you'll be a strong fighter and a stubbornly proud character," he had warned. I laughed at him.

A roof tile cracked and I don't give my mind a moment to catch up. My body flies forward towards the sound, hoping to disarm but a shadow ducks away. Something's wrong.

The figure stumbles and the slant of the roof sends him falling but the awning supports and absorbs his fall but he ends up rolling off with a loud thud.

I drop down using the windowsills and grab a lantern on my way over.

The mystery guest holds up his hands in surrender as I introduce light.

The flame is small but I can see the white hood and insignia.

I tuck the knife in my hand into my belt and kneel next to the man. Blood seeps through tears in his leg.

"What happened, brother?"

"Bear; I had made camp but it must have been near a den that had cubs." He groans when I move his leg a little to examine the severity of the cuts. "The mother attacked me but I escaped." His voice is strained and frustration leaks from it.

I offer him a hand and he clasps it. I pull his arm over my shoulder and we move towards one of the rooms with doors open to the courtyard. His heavy body sags against me and I regret not training as often as I did. I'm tall for a woman, enough to stare down some men and bulky enough to pass for a young man but this man is like a horse.

We enter the room and I let him onto the bed with a huff and he groans as I let him onto the low table, built for these situations.

"How did you find this place, 'tis the first time you've come through here," I say as I hurry around, gathering supplies.

"I have seen the house many times before and the people who come and go." He tells me as I help him strip off his weapons. I address the wounds now that he's more comfortable and start cutting the pants, pouring small amounts of water so the tug of fabric didn't pull too much at his wounds.

"Where are you from?" I ask him, needing him to stay awake. The blood on his pants had begun to dry which meant his wounds had had time to fester. I start to clean the wound thoroughly. He shouts in pain and tries to sit up, but I wrestle him down.

I lean back when he's settled again and shake my hands.

_Great, I have probably one of the strongest men in the Order as a patient and there's not a single other person to help me in miles_, I think to myself hysterically.

He mutters something which stops me from running a bloody hand over my hood.

"P-pardon?"

"The….homestead…Davenport….stead," he gives me weakly.

I dive into work again and don't stop. "Davenport…" That was Achilles' location before he….before he…

I shrug, adjusting the overcoat. As more treated water poured over his wounds. He groans and tries to keep from flinching but more blood rushes out of his wound.

"How's the homestead; last I visited it was building up nicely," I rush out, trying to stem the bleeding. I try to keep myself calm while wishing I had another set of hands.

All I get in return is a small grunt and he looks at me, puzzled.

"You've-you've visited the Homestead?"

"No," I answer him, my busy hands keeping my mind from wandering. "Achilles' was an old friend and I wrote to him often," I turn a little and offer a small smile but he's lying down again, panting because of the pain. I continue to work and suddenly I can slowly feel him relax, letting go.

"Brother," I say hastily, trying to wake him up. He doesn't respond and I say it louder. All is quiet and I get worried.

"Brother," I say, walking over to his head. I crouch down again and stroke his cheek. He opens his eyes and they're tired and startled.

"I need you to be awake," I say, my tone low and reassuring. "If I had another helping me, I'd let you sleep without worrying over if you're breathing or not as I work. But I need to make sure alive and the only way I'll know as I work alone is if you continue your ability to make conversation." The words spill out of me and I wait until he nods before returning to his leg.

I take out the thread and needle.

"How long have you known Achilles'?" my patient asks. His voice is strained but he's stubborn. I smile slightly at how familiar the character of the tone is. I start stitching the wound.

"Practically all my life, he was there on the day of my birth."

"Really?"

"Yes," my vision is blurry so I raise my hand steady my head as I shrug off the headache. "He was a close friend of my father"...

* * *

A/N: Yay, chapter two, it's short isn't it D:  
Anyways, I'm working on the third chapter which will take who knows how long that'll take...Thank you for reading!

P.S. I had a friend read through my ideas and said that the OC seems a little too Mary Sue. If it seems too Mary Sue, please tell me, I want to avoid those kind of things...  
Thanks again for taking the time to read this!


	3. Chapter 3

I tie off the bandages and get up slowly but all of my joints are creaky making me cruse as I trip over my own foot. I get up again and rub my limbs ready to collapse but my work isn't done yet. I walk up to the upper part of the table, patient now passed out, and unlock the wheels, dragging it next to the bed. I hurry outside to the courtyard and grab two buckets of water as well as several towels, and begin to strip off the dirty clothes of my patient. I clean off his body of blood and dirt while checking for any other wounds. My vision keeps blurring and I keep shaking it off as I work. I dress him with clean clothes and debate whether I should clean his face off or not. He's a native and has war paint streaked on his cheeks. I adjust the overcoat and half-shove, half-drag him onto the bed.

"Rmmmh…hrnnn…..For the love of GOD…."

All he does is mumble in his sleep and curse his sleeping form. I feel like crying because I've been up all night and he doesn't even have the dignity to be awake and help me with this laborious task. I settle for leaving him tilted on the bed and tuck him in, tripping over myself as I grab bloody rags and clothes off the floor that need to be washed. My arms get full as I get to the doors that lead to the courtyard and dump them into the basket of dirty clothes as the harsh sunlight invades my eyes.

I hiss at the sun as my headache gets worse and slide over the counter and under shade but my fuzzy mind makes sure that I misjudge the distance which results in me landing face first onto the ground. I lie there; staying very still knowing someone just saw what just happened. Footsteps approach quietly toward the counter, two distinctly different pairs. I fix my hood as I get up and try to look presentable for my new guests, leaning onto the counter with only my smile showing.

Jack looks at me, a grin frozen in place before he starts to laugh—practically letting out a guffaw, doubling over, clutching his stomach and the other theatrics.

His partner, a rookie, is blushing out of embarrassment.

"I'm—I'm s-so sorry, Ma—I, mean Den Leader," the apprentice blurts out. Jack just shakes his head still laughing, clutching onto his partner for support.

The corner of my lips twitch and a knife glances off of Jack's foot. He yelps in the most undignified way as he falls down trying to twist but ends up sprawling on the dirt.

"The tables have turned, old friend," I laugh at him and the apprentice turns red as a tomato.

Jack hops up and brushes off his coat. "We're 'ere on a, uhm, mission Den 'eader." He clears his throat. "Shouldn't a Den 'eader look more dignified, 'ou know, not leaning on the counter or anything," he scowls at my posture and dirty uniform.

I glare back, knowing he can't really see my eyes and I let my voice ice over, but keep it soft. "It's not like I was raised any better," I explain myself with a sigh.

Jack cranes over me but he isn't that much taller and lets out a hiss, " 'ou ain't ganna talk about 'our mother like that."

"Maybe I wasn't referring to my mother, a single physician can only do," I pause, a cruel smirk tugging my lips, "so much." I let my tone drop.

He slams a fist onto the counter. "I was there, for plenty of 'our 'ears!"

"Towards the end yes," the apprentice hands me the report when I offer a hand and skim through the information.

"And 'ou grew up just fine, lookit 'ou, in place where old men crawl to towards the 'nd of their own life." He hisses at me, "'ou're just too weak to cope."

I stiffen at his retort, lifting eyes away from the writing. He can't see the glare I give him through my cowl, but I can see the condescending look in his eyes.

"Cope? Cope?!" I sneer as he realizes what he said.

Jack pales, "that's not what I mean, Sam-"

I throw the end report at his face.

"The enemy has been spotted in local taverns, meeting in the most secluded ones, both of you will scout each and EVERY one until you find their meeting spot."

Jack fumbles for the paper and the journeyman stands there about to piss his pants.

"Every...tavern?" he asks

"_Every_ tavern and inn."

"Sam, no need to scare the lad-"

"Your team leaves for Boston at noon, you will have one week." I pause. "Where is your third man?"

"Uhm," the apprentice looks around looking confused.

"Hmph, I'll send him your way when he finally gets here," I say with a wave of a hand. "Get what you need from the storage and stay out of my way."

I turn without bothering to formally dismiss them and climb my way back up to my room, opening the doors with a frustrated kick.

I toss the overcoat off and start shrugging out of my stained whites until I'm in my basic shirt and leggings. It was unprofessional, the rash way I let my anger out but I had to.

"No I didn't have to," I reflect glumly, draping myself on the bed, wishing I never had to see him again. We used to be on better terms, when we went on missions together, him teaching the ins and outs of being an assassin.

I let my mind drift backwards to the time when we met for the first time. I was eighteen and given my first assassination contract with a partner.

"Look for a man with a black coat and a feather in his hat," a Den Leader told me.

"A f-feather?" I had rolled my eyes. I did what I was told and waited at our rendezvous point for an hour. He came, everything crooked and the feather was bent. He passed me and I followed him quietly.

"The target is in the whorehouse south of here," I had passed to him.

He stumbled but I caught his reply and watched him clumsily stagger towards the target. I remember noting a little respect for him, his act was on purpose, the alcohol was smeared on his neck, not his breath.

I waited in the alley in front of the house and entered after Jack. I remember I was dressed like a man and I looked like one too with my unusual tall figure and angular jaw but I had hidden myself as much as possible. I entered and women cooed at me and in the corner Jack was merrily singing songs with an arm draped around a man. The man looked like he was about to puke and I left as he got up and walked to side of the house in wait. The target stumbled, practically into my arms and I let my blade sink into his fat neck. He didn't die right away, he clung to me, eyes popping out as I returned his frantic look coolly, watching the light escape him.

"Rest in peace," I told him and added, "in the molten fires of brimstone." The body finally fell limp and I looked up, Jack had an approving look on his face. It was smug and cruel in reality, but for a girl who had never known her father before that day, it was so rewarding.

I hear the sound of thumping on the roof and I'm up, grabbing a fresh robe and my overcoat, shrugging it in place. I walk onto the balcony, swinging open the doors wide, nearly knocking Mark over the rail.

He squeaks but I grab him by the collar just as he's about to flip backwards. I tug him forward gently and his tricorn slips, falling onto the courtyard. Mark's knees buckle and give out.

I burst out laughing, crouching next to him and put my hands on both sides of his face. He looks like he's about to burst into tears and I kiss the top of his head, helping him up. He stumbles but steadies and I pat him briefly making sure he isn't injured.

"You ought to watch where you step, my boy, you're a master climber but not even monkeys can fly," I tease and he blushes. Ruffling his red hair I ask, "What's your business here, child?"

"Sent in to locate the Templar gathering points, ma'am."

I give him a look, "Your team arrived ages ago, where have you been?"

He sputters, ears turning red enough to blend into his hair. I usher him back towards the rail.

"They've been sent to the stores to gather their supplies and will leave when the sun reaches its highest point. Before you must go, I require some assistance." Mark nods and jumps down, myself following. We walk into the room where my patient rests and I scowl noticing how he's managed to put himself in a stranger angle than what I had put him in.

"Help me," I tell Mark as I grab the man's shoulders but he awakes and grabs back.

I refuse to have any of it and push him back down, "Calm down, brother, you're safe."

Mark drifts closer. "Get me some fresh water and get the dirty clothes have them soak in water." He nods and does what he's asked.

I look at my patient again, offering a gentle smile waiting for him to remember where he is. I see it click and relax my grip.

"Full of energy despite your injury, a good sign." He tries to get up again but groans and lies back. I feel his forehead and check for any signs of a fever but he seems strong. I help him adjust on the bed.

"You never really introduced yourself, what is your name?" I startle a little and look at him; his face is scrutinizing and careful.

"Sam Pierce," I answer. "Anderson. Sam Pierce Anderson." I offer another smile. "And yours?"

"Connor," he offers and I wait. "What?"

"Nothing," I answer lightly, straightening. "You must be hungry, I'll get you something," I turn towards the door but a tray of food already waits. I let out a chuckle and get it for Connor. He balances the tray on his lap carefully as I pull up a chair next to the bed, grabbing a basket of bandages from the nightstand.

"Where exactly am I?" he says, staring at me. I shift a little under his scrutinizing eyes and shrug in order to fix my overcoat.

"It is my home, but I have converted it to accommodate the activities of the Order," I take out a roll of cloth and tidy it. "It's called a den and it's used to house assassins while they protect the cities that they have been assigned to protect. I am leader of this den and have control of those in the surrounding area."

"These dens are found throughout the colonies?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"How come I have not seen any other assassins before?"

A smirk tugs at my lips and I answer, "We are very good at what we do and it helps that we wear regular clothes in public rather than our assassin whites in public." He draws back a little and stares elsewhere, contemplating this. "And," I add, "our numbers are not as large as they once were."

"How?" Connor asks as I fold my arms.

"How else? Templars nearly annihilated us during the Seven Year's War and we were forced to give up our Mentor, but we have found ways to rise again." I repeat the same lecture that I've heard a thousand times. I was only four when I saw Achilles accept the fate that had befallen the Order, drifting into the manor, never to see daylight again. I had visited often but switched to using letters to communicate with him once I had become a Disciple.

I shrug, fixing the overcoat and look at Connor, "You must be worried about those that the Homestead, I'll send word about your well-being," I stand and move for the doorway. "If you need anything…" Connor nods and addresses the food in front of him so I move for my counter, taking out a parchment and dip my quill in ink, scratching out the letter.

* * *

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was really boring, I had trouble because it was hard getting out the information and making sure it's right D:  
Anyways, Connor gets introduced formally([throws confetti]) and the other chapters may take a while to get out because although I love Connor's personality, it's sorta hard to work with in terms of making sure I don't destroy his character.1

So I have the next chapter ready but needs a lot of revisions and school is right around the corner so please be patient and review! Thank you


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